


Let it Rain

by rhenia_ra



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhenia_ra/pseuds/rhenia_ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drought that hits Camelot in the final month of summer is paralyzing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Rain

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the "accidental magic" trope. These boys and their shenanigans, I swear.

  
The drought that hits Camelot in the final month of summer is paralyzing. Far worse than the aridity that came with the whole unicorn debacle—slower, perhaps, in its coming, but equally slow in its passing-- it scorches the Earth with the vengeance of a druid army. The unsurprising murmurs of sorcery from the King do not go unheard, but in the brazen and acrid heat, the search for a source to the calamity treads slowly.

When Uther asks "What is the status of the fields to the west?" his head rests, cupped in one outturned palm. He shifts and his hand slips, slick with the sweat of his brow.

"Adequate," Arthur says, "The ones to the south are more worrisome," and he speaks quietly with a throat that perhaps sounds more parched than it is, because Merlin then all but runs from the chamber and returns moments later with a spot of water. He has an odd look on his face when he hands Arthur the cup, like he is handing his Prince poison rather than water, and the man raises an eyebrow in response. Merlin shrugs, looks away.

"And those in the South?" Uther sounds tired in the way that perhaps all kings do. Arthur swallows the precious substance in two gulps and it burns on his tongue.

"About a quarter of them are desecrated," he says, "the workers are attempting to remove the dead stalks from where they've fallen on the live ones, but—"

Uther's head snaps up, "But what? They obviously realize that this is their food as well as the rest of Camelot's?"

Arthur tenses. "Yes, and they are moving as quickly as the heat will allow them."

His father does not hesitate before he orders that knights be sent to make sure that this is the case, and when Arthur leaves the hall to attend to the order, he sees Merlin shaking in his half-laced tunic with something that is rather obviously not cold.

"Prepare my horse, would you Merlin?"

Merlin cocks his head and says "Sire?" because he's apparently too exhausted from the heat to be insubordinate.

"I am to check on the workers in the Southern fields," he says, already walking toward his chambers, leaving Merlin trailing behind, "and I'd prefer to have it done with by midday."

"Why?" Merlin stops walking and Arthur is forced to swing about mid-step to answer him.

"Because that's when it's hottest, you idiot, now go."

He hears Merlin mumble behind him, "That's not what I meant," but is honestly too hot to care.

\--

  
He spends the evening getting as much of a talking down as Gaius is willing to give the crown prince and being caked with a foul smelling ointment that Merlin swears worked fine for him last summer.

"I would advise against wearing your chain mail for the next few days, my lord," Gaius tells him, his lips drawn into a line that causes the fine wrinkles around his mouth to bunch up.

"I wouldn't worry much about my wearing layers," Arthur says, thinking that perhaps sunburns are the reason that most wars are fought in winter or spring. Merlin, sitting off in a corner, snorts.

"And you call me an idiot," he says ("Merlin!" Gaius warns), "I'm not the one knowingly gallivanting off into _fire_ when I could just as easily send someone else."

"The fields weren't on fire, stop exaggerating," Arthur snaps, but the wince he gives when Gaius rubs more of the clear substance onto his left shoulder ruins the effect. "Would you have preferred that I sent you, then? You're so pasty; you'd burn to a crisp."

"Your father said to send the knights!"

"Half of which are off trying to find the magic Father seems to think caused this whole mess," Arthur stands up and leaves Gaius sputtering, unable to do anything but narrow his eyes, "and the other half of which are so tired from the heat that only Leon has been able to practice each day, and he has been _awful_, by the way."

Merlin stands up then as well and shoots Gaius an entirely unreadable look before saying, "Are you this stupidly noble just to make up for being a prat the rest of the time? Because it's not working" ("Merlin!" Gaius says again, and they both ignore him).

"And are you really that much of an idiot?" Arthur narrows his eyes, stepping closer to his manservant. He can see the beads of sweat gathering on his upper-lip, dripping from his forehead to the sharp planes of his cheekbones. "Because it's not nearly as charming as you seem to think it is."

Merlin opens his mouth to respond but closes it abruptly, and just as abruptly stalks to his room. Gaius stares in horror at the slammed door.

"He does realize I'm the prince, right?" Arthur growls.

Gaius sighs and hands him a small jar of ointment and his shirt. "He's simply worried about you, sire."

"Yes well," the prince clears his throat and gestures with his hand, sending another sharp bit of pain down his arm, "if he's going to be such a woman about it, he could at least be a bit more winsome about the whole thing, couldn't he?"

He hears the sound of a book being slammed in the room behind Gaius' workshop and the older man shakes his head. "No, I imagine not."

\--

  
The next day, it rains.

The crops all but sing out in joy with their human workers. The dead stalks, even, no longer seem to be dying--

"This is obviously the work of sorcery," Uther says, thumping his fist on the table before him. Arthur notices this hasn't stopped his father from drinking from a large goblet of water and stifles a sigh.

"We can't know for sure," he reminds him, and Uther shakes his head.

"I have experienced sorcery before, Arthur; it has a certain feel about it." He takes another swig of water and pulls a face. "Someday, you'll understand."

"Shall I keep the knights on it, then?"

His father nods and stares into the distance. "It may be a separate sorcerer from the first," he says.  
Arthur chooses his words with care before responding. "It would seem the rain is of benefit to Camelot."

The king's eyes narrow on him and he says, "Were it that easy."

\--

  
His father is correct on at least one account.

When Arthur steps onto the balcony intended for public ceremony, he feels the drops of water hit his head and he knows it's magic, feels it; and instead of walking back into the sticky comfort of the throne room, he pushes his entire body outdoors, stands until he can feel the rain soak through to his skin.

He turns his face up, allowing each drop to plaster blonde strands of hair to his forehead like sweat had done the day before. He feels rivulets forming streams down the contours of his features, running from the small dip of his eye, down his face, into the tiny corner that forms where his lip meets his cheek. _Like I'm crying_, he thinks.

The scorched surface of his shoulders and back still stick to his clothing, but now it seems slick, and it no longer stings to move. He pushes the fabric back and sees the creamy color of his skin peeking out at him, as untouched as it had been on the day of his birth. He laughs and tips his head back again.

The rain really is magic.

When he grins, he can feel the water leak into the corners of his mouth. He swallows greedily, letting it quench his parched throat, allowing it heal his insides as well.

Arthur pauses in his reverie, suddenly aware of the clothing that is now heavy on his frame, burdened by the water. He glances down from his place on the ledge and smiles. Merlin is standing below him, equally drenched, and he is holding his arms out like a dying man replenished.

"Merlin," Arthur shouts. The boy jumps like a hare at the sound, looks up at his Prince with a rather profound look of—guilt? Embarrassment? Arthur smirks and waves. He can't very well tease the idiot for standing out in the rain if he was doing the same.

Instead, he tips his head back again and holds his arms out as Merlin had done, feels the rain as it pours over his body.

\--

  
"What are you just standing there for?" Arthur says, holding up his arms in a demonstration of just how soaked through he really is. His cheeks are flushed, as warm as they had been the day before, though he imagines it has more to do with exhilaration this time, like he has just mastered one of his knights in an even match. Merlin stands in his doorway, dripping onto the stone in an immensely undignified manner.

"You want me to help you change when I'm still soaked myself?" he asks, and the lightness in his voice doesn't quite meet the expression on his face. Arthur skillfully ignores it, like he does most things involving Merlin.

"Obviously," he says, and he lifts his arms again to prove his point. Merlin sighs and crosses the room in three strides. His fingers are pruned up from the rain, but they move deftly on the strings of Arthur's tunic, and he tries not to watch them.

Merlin reaches for the hem clumsily; His knuckles drag across Arthur's stomach, catching slightly on the drying skin. Once the tunic is off, he stops, still holding the fabric in his hands, clutching it to his chest. He stares, his blue eyes wide beneath the fringe of dripping dark hair.

Arthur shifts under his gaze for a moment.

"What?" he finally says.

Merlin swallows just as a drip of condensation glides down his neck. Arthur attempts again not to stare. "Your burns," the younger man says. He reaches, no longer hesitant, to touch the neatly knitted skin, brushing his hand across the clean expanse. He turns him around, then, causing Arthur to open his mouth in shock, as if to say some manner of thing about being pushed about by his manservant, but he does not. He can feel, though he can no longer see, Merlin's hands on him, solid as they trace his shoulder blades.

"You've healed," he whispers. He sounds as if he's going to be sick.

"Yes, well," Arthur says, "it seems my father was correct." He pauses when he feels Merlin's hands stop moving, flat against his back. "About the magic part, that is." The hands drop then and he turns to find Merlin's eyes averted. He looks rather miserable like this, with his clothes clinging to every inch of his thin frame, his hair hanging so that Arthur can no longer tell where it ends and his stupidly long eyelashes begin.

"I suppose you've got something to say about that too?" he snaps. _Of course_ Merlin would be upset that he got healed, there was always _something_ with him, wasn't there?

Merlin glances up and then back down. His hands move suddenly to Arthur's trousers and Arthur tries not to let out a gasp as his manservant resumes his job of undressing him.

"Why were you standing out there, if you knew it was magic?" he is still whispering, like an actual _servant_. It makes Arthur furious.

"It healed me," he says, resisting the urge to brush Merlin's hands away from his waist. Instead, he crosses his arms in a way that he hopes appears disapproving. "I think that should be obvious."

"Yes," Merlin says, suddenly louder, suddenly meeting his eyes. He is entirely too close. "but it's _magic_, you prat, and you never…" his eyebrows draw together, he bites his lip, pink and wet from the rain, "You need to be more careful, damn it!"

Arthur lets out a bark of laughter.

"Careful?" he laughs, "Of the rain? You are truly mad, my friend."

Merlin's hands drop from where they'd paused at the front of Arthur's pants. He's glaring at him now and Arthur almost misses the sense of obedience he'd gotten a moment before. "The rain, the sun, anything that you know can harm you and yet you go about and do it anyway!" He gestures as he talks, pulling his soaked tunic about so that it sticks to his slim chest.

"Merlin," Arthur says quietly, "finish undressing me."

The hands are at his laces again, giving them two final tugs before he can feel the fabric slip down his hips. Merlin spins around before they can hit the ground; he pulls a towel from Arthur's cabinet and throws it at him from across the room. Arthur catches it, snorts. He unsticks the wet fabric from his legs quickly, lets the trousers pool around his ankles while he wraps the towel around his waist. Merlin stands glaring at his feet.

Arthur sighs. "Not all magic is evil, Merlin," he says, "no matter what my father says. That rain, it was—it was fine, I'm alright."

Merlin looks up, and his expression of shock very quickly gives way to a choke of laughter. He sounds more desperate with each laugh, until he has to cover his mouth with one hand, as if Arthur will not be able to tell he's still at it if he can't see it.

"Merlin!" He says, and he steps toward the boy, whose shoulders are still shaking. "What on Earth-"

"You," Merlin says, "are an idiot."

Arthur is at him in a second, pinning the smaller body to the wall by one shoulder. "And you," he says, "are insubordinate. I could have your head." He feels the corner of his mouth twitching, knows even as he feels Merlin's firm shoulder beneath his hand that he could not.

Merlin is no longer laughing, but his smile almost falls off his face from the sheer quantity of it. "You couldn't," he says. Arthur's hand releases the smaller man's shoulder, but before he can pull away, it is held fast. Merlin is still smiling, softer now.

Their mouths meet halfway.

Merlin's lips are dry from laughing, Arthur notices, so he doesn't hesitate to trail his tongue along them to wet them, licking his way into Merlin's mouth, feeling him open up before him. He moans, reaches up to tangle his hand in the wet mess Merlin calls his hair.

"Arthur," Merlin gasps, and his hand is bunching at the towel on his hips. _Not fair_, Arthur thinks in a haze, and he kisses the boy again before he begins to pull the damp shirt over his head.

He stops long enough to look. A great streak of lightening illuminates them and he takes in greedily the sharp collarbones before he is kissing them, still sticky and damp from the blue tunic now balled on the floor. Merlin's breath catches, his hands pull Arthur closer to him so that their hips are perfectly aligned. Their mouths are entwined again when Merlin pushes against him. Arthur gasps just as a crack of thunder sounds outside.

They jump, Arthur's hands still tangled in Merlin's hair. The latter grins sheepishly. His cheeks are flushed and Arthur kisses each one before he can give himself time to think about the fact that he's having at it with his gorgeous, fucking incorrigible manservant….

Merlin's breathe hitches when Arthur's hands find his way to the top of his trousers, shaking as they begin to unlace them. Really, though, only Merlin could make him this truly unseemly, he thinks. Merlin's hands are on Arthur's then, warm and sure as they push them down so that he's cupping Merlin through the fabric, so that they're groaning into each others' mouths.

This time, when thunder booms through the stones holding together the castle, Merlin does a rather undignified hop and pulls away again. His lips are full and red and Arthur absolutely can't stand it, grabs him by his shoulders and tries to pull him in again, so he can kiss the look of confusion off of his face. "Wait," Merlin says, pulling back, but Arthur pushes into the crook of his neck, bites at the junction where his jaw meets his neck so he can hear Merlin's sounds, his sighs. He pushes his leg between Merlin's, licks carefully at his skin. The rain outside intensifies, pounding louder and louder on the window to his room.

Merlin shudders but pushes him away again. His eyes are squeezed shut and Arthur can hear as, slowly, the rain slows again to its previous pace. "Arthur," he pleas, each breathe hot against Arthur's skin and good God, can't they just go back to kissing? "We've got to stop."

"Why?" he mutters, his hands still gripping the sharpness of Merlin's hips, not caring an ounce if he sounds like a petulant child.

"I can't," he swallows, his eyes still shut, "I can't control—" and it's too much. Arthur is on him again, this time pulling his pants around his hips in one try, his hands no longer shaking. Merlin's cock is already slick with pre-cum when Arthur takes it into hand, squeezes it experimentally.

Merlin's groan is just loud enough to be heard underneath the burst of thunder that rattles the windows. He pauses. Merlin is panting, his eyes downcast. Arthur swallows the sudden lump in his throat and glides his finger along the vein on the underside of his cock so he can watch Merlin's face come undone, watch the sudden burst of lightening that frames him and to hear the boom of thunder that follows it.

The golden tint of the lightening fades as quickly as it comes and yet—

"Merlin," he says, but he does not let go, simply pauses and uses his other hand to tip the man's chin up to face his. Merlin's eyes squeeze shut again. "Open your eyes," he whispers, tugs gently at the hard length in his hand so that another flash of lightening will help him see the brightness of Merlin's eyes in the grey of his chambers.

"I can't control it," Merlin chokes out again, his eyes gold and smoldering, "We have to stop."

Things fall into place rather quickly. He backs up until his knees hit the back of his bed and he tips onto it, covers his face in his hands and lets out a sharp laugh. Of all the people, he thinks, and of all the fucking reasons not to have sex, "this tops all of them," he snorts.

"What?" when he looks up, he sees that Merlin, eyes blue again, is completely tensed, poised like he's ready to run for his life, half-naked down the halls of his father's castle.

"What will happen?" he tries to control the quiver in his voice and is fairly certain that he fails, "What will happen if we keep going?"

"I don't know," Merlin whispers. He's already buttoned his trousers again. Arthur finds he's disappointed, despite it all, tries again to relocate his thought process.

"And if you—"

"If I what?"

He coughs. "If you came, what would happen?"

"Arthur!" Merlin snaps, standing up abruptly from where he'd stooped to pick up his dingy tunic.

Arthur stands up from the bed, rounds on the gangly figure before him. "You," he says, "have no right to sound so astonished right now." Merlin swallows. "Now sit down."

He does so on the edge of Arthur's bed, knuckles white where he's clutching the blue fabric bundled in his hands. He looks like he's about to be sentenced to death which Arthur realizes in a rush and snaps, "You're not going to be killed." Merlin inhales for the first time in two minutes, but his back is still far straighter than Arthur has ever seen it. "Now why," he pauses, "why can't you do both at once?"

The pause that follows his question is weighted.

"Are you—are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," Arthur growls.

"Because I don't know what I'm doing!" Merlin says, throwing his hands up and looking far more like his usual self.

"That much is obvious."

"Oh, sod off—" he is silenced by Arthur's lips on his.

"Don't," he says into Merlin's mouth "make me kill you."

Merlin breathes shakily. "I've never used this spell before," he admits. "I had no idea it would go around healing things, let alone—" he waves a hand at the window.

Arthur straightens himself from where he'd been leaning over him. "You didn't intend to heal me?" he asks.

Merlin blushes down to his torso. "It was more of a bonus," he mutters. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and Arthur can't help but kiss him again, biting his lip lightly between his teeth.

"You are an awful sorcerer," he says and burrows his head into Merlin's neck. Merlin sighs.

"I was only trying to help."

Arthur snorts. "So every time you try to do magic—illegal, I might add, not sure if you knew—and have a wank at the same time—" Merlin's hands come up to cover his mouth and he pushes them down so he can glare more directly.

"This is the first time it's happened," he admits, still fully flushed. "And don't," he says when Arthur smirks and opens his mouth, "let it go to your head."

They stare at each other for a moment and then sigh, lying back on the mattress in the odd sort of tandem they've developed throughout the months of working together.

"Couldn't you just stop the spell for a bit?" Arthur murmurs, turning onto his side to look at Merlin.

He looks at him as if he's gone mad, eyebrows drawn and mouth agape. "You're mad!" he says. "You'd rather have sex than save Camelot from drought!"

Arthur waves a hand in the air. "You could start it up again after."

Merlin snorts. "It's a fluke that it worked in the first place."

He groans. "God, do you think I could just hang you for not being a _good_ sorcerer?"

The rain patters steadily against the window pane. It is the only sound while Merlin shifts on his back. "I'd imagine you could," he says quietly.

Rather than admitting to the sickening feeling of his heart dropping into his stomach, Arthur does the next most sensible thing, which is to kiss Merlin firmly on the mouth and say, "Shut up," which Merlin does, and he kisses back as well.

He ruins it though, after a few more moments of tentative brushings of lips, by whispering, "Thank you."

"For what?" Arthur mutters.

Merlin swallows. "Not being angry."

"Well I'm not exactly happy," he admits. "I still think we should just see what happens. The castle is stone, it's not like lightening could set it on fire."

Merlin grins. "I meant the magic."

"Ah." They stare at one another; Merlin traces circles down Arthur's bare back with his hand, smoothing out the taut muscles. "I trust you," he whispers, glancing away from the dark orbs of blue in front of him.

Merlin's voice is horse and quiet. "You do?"

"You told me not to go into the sun," Arthur shrugs one shoulder, still looking away. He can feel his face flushing and curses it. "because you didn't want me to get a blasted sunburn. I just don't think you're competent enough to be evil."

Merlin rolls to his back and laughs, throwing his head back into the plush coverings. He pushes himself up, then, loops one leg around Arthur's waist to straddle him. He smiles from above him, his hands planted firmly on his chest as he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Arthur's forehead.

"What are you doing?" Arthur says.

Merlin presses their foreheads together, then their lips. "Whatever happens," he says, "happens," and he reaches between them to tug the towel from around Arthur's waist.

The rain continues to fall to the scorched Earth.


End file.
